


A Bard Doesn't Get Hurt

by tossacointoyourwriter



Series: A Bard and his Hurting [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Camping, M/M, Spit As Lube, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22129543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tossacointoyourwriter/pseuds/tossacointoyourwriter
Summary: "You're awake," Geralt needlessly pointed out. The hand on Jaskier's waist traveled towards his hips, giving an insistent squeeze that was more nails biting skin than anything.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A Bard and his Hurting [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592920
Comments: 5
Kudos: 552





	A Bard Doesn't Get Hurt

The setting sun filtered through the branches of the dense forest, and somehow Jaskier constantly found his eyes in the direct path of the offensive light.

"Geralt, my good man, we've been traveling for three days without stopping. My poor legs ache," the bard complained, waving his hands dramatically over his legs. One of his pant legs had been torn from a tumble with a rose bush, and the garment hung loose around his shin, leaving his skin cold and covered in goosebumps. "Not to mention I'd like to patch this up. Terribly cold, it is."

Geralt only grunted and rolled his eyes, patting Roach to bring her to a halt. When fully dismounted, he gave her a good pat and produced an apple from his pack, which she gobbled down gratefully and gave him a gentle nudge in return. Now it was Jaskier's turn to roll his eyes, prodding an accusatory finger into Roach's side.

"I'm coming to believe you definitely like this horse more than you like me."

"Perhaps."

"I'm wounded, ser Witcher. Look at me, im bleeding out on the ground."

Geralt grunted once more, allowing his lips to quirk in a grin as he shook his head gently. "If I were to wound you I assure you, you'd be dead before you bleed out."

"Right, I remember a particular Witcher saying he wouldn't hurt me," Jaskier grumbled. No sooner than he got the words out did he regret them, because Geralt froze for a few moments in the midst of removing his saddle from Roach's back. They hadn't talked about it, and Geralt probably wanted to forget. Couldn't even make eye contact with Jaskier for a whole day after it happened. Geralt might have already forgotten, in fact, and was probably disgusted with the bard for bringing it up.

"I'm sorry," the bard started, looking to the ground with shame, but Geralt put up his hand and waved it dismissively, hauling his saddle onto his shoulder with the other. "Don't be," he hummed, turning away from Jaskier to drop the saddle and his pack on the ground. "I'm going to get food. Set up camp while I'm gone." With that, the Witcher prowled into the darkening wood with his crossbow dangling from his hand, leaving Jaskier to his thoughts.

Since Jaskier tagged along more frequently, Geralt had stopped in a town to purchase a reasonably sized tent and a bedroll for his companion. Jaskier hadn't stopped bothering Geralt about caring for him for almost an entire week afterwards.

The tent was set up and the bedroll was neatly unraveled inside, and the bard had a decent fire going when Geralt returned, a rabbit held by the throat in each hand. Neither of them were bloodied either, a trick that only Geralt seemed to pull off.

They cooked and ate in silence, though it was mostly Jaskier sitting and watching the Witcher cook, because Jaskier seemed to burn or ruin every meal he cooked one way or another. He enjoyed watching Geralt anyway, the way his eyes narrowed with focus when he was roasting meat or the way his hands moved efficiently but carefully when pelting his prey. And in any case, sitting here watching Geralt felt almost sickeningly domestic, and he found that the most enjoyable part of all. While they ate, Jaskier sewed up his pant leg, humming a tune the entire time. He could feel Geralt's eyes on him as his fingers worked, but he kept his head down in fear of meeting the Witcher's eyes and what he may see there.

When the meal was done and a bottle of Jaskier's fine wine was emptied, they retired to their respective beds. Well, if one could call the patch of leaves Geralt settled into a bed. The sound of Jaskier's lute lulled them both a bit, carrying on for a while before Jaskier found himself too tired to continue strumming. He rolled onto his side, thankful for the blanket he had which shielded him from the biting cold around him.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The sound of leaves stirring drew Jaskier out of his half-sleep, and he felt the blanket being lifted from behind him. He would have startled and run for Geralt to protect him, but the smell of firewood and metal told him that Geralt was, in fact, the one creeping into his bedroll. The Witcher settled in, a few inches away from Jaskier, and moments passed before a gentle, almost hesitant hand found its way over Jaskier's waist. It stayed there for a while, gently cradling Jaskier, before the hand became less hesitant and more firm. Geralt pulled Jaskier back so he was flushed against the larger man, and he buried his nose into the bard's neck. Jaskier's breath hitched, carrying out a soft whine in its wake.

"You're awake," Geralt needlessly pointed out. The hand on Jaskier's waist traveled towards his hips, giving an insistent squeeze that was more nails biting skin than anything.

"I am," Jaskier spoke, his voice a bit hoarse with lingering sleep. His hips stuttered against Geralt's squeezing hand, and Geralt bit back a rousing grunt when the boy's hips rocked back against his own growing hardness.

"Fuck," Geralt groaned. He rolled his hips forward to press his clothed cock against Jaskier's ass, teasing the smaller man with short thrusts that made Jaskier's whining grow louder with each brush forward. The hand on Jaskier's hip traveled to his clothed erection' where he cupped and squeezed until Jaskier was a writhing mess, chanting Geralt's name. With one swift movement, Geralt dug his hand into the front of Jaskier's trousers and gripped the bard's cock. Jaskier cried out, leaning farther onto his back to capture Geralt's lips in a heated, lust-fuelled kiss. Their tongues tangled and their teeth clacked, and Geralt's hand stroking Jaskier's cock never faltered.

"Oh my," the bard panted out when he and Geralt disconnected. "Geralt... I think I'm-"

All too soon, Geralt withdrew his hand and Jaskier let out a pitiful cry, looking up just in time to see Geralt not only slicking up his fingers in his own mouth, but in turn licking Jaskier's precum off of his hand.

"Not yet, Jaskier. I want to feel you... be inside you..." The boy let out another dazed groan and leaned forward onto his belly, wiggling his hips to free his ass from the confines of his trousers.

Not a moment later, Geralt was prodding at his entrance with forceful fingers, pushing into his heat and picking up a brutal pace, thrusting his fingers in and out of Jaskier as the bard let out beautiful songs of pleasure and cries of Geralt's name. The Witcher added a third finger, slowing down his pace to scissor the bard open carefully. He withdrew his fingers and Jaskier could practically hear him thinking, and the stillness almost unsettled the bard until he felt four thick fingers opening him up. Jaskeir practically screamed, throwing his head back in pure ecstasy, rolling his hips back onto Geralt's hamnd with babbling grunts and whines.

When the Witcher withdrew once more, he returned in time to silence one of Jaskier's whines by plunging into the boy, sheathing himself almost too quickly within the bard's tight heat. "Fuck," Geralt squeezed out, draping hinself over Jaskier and surrounding him with himself.

"Oh fuck, Geralt, faster please." And who was Geralt to deny such a pretty beggar? He began pounding into Jaskier, hot and heavy and slick, rocking into the boy eithin an inch of his life.

When he found that spot that drove Jaskier wild, made him cant his hips and thrust back onto his cock, he sat up and carefully brought the bard up with him. Jaskier's back was pressed into Geralt's chest and the bard's legs were on either side of his own, head thrown back to rest on his shoulder. One of the Witcher's hands came up to shove two fingers into Jaskier's mouth, making the bard's cries into garbled messes of choked off whines and moans. His other hand flew to Jaskier's cock, stroking hard and fast in the opposite rhythm of his hips.

Jaskier bit down on Geralt's fingers and released, all over Geralt's fist and his own belly. His eyes rolled back as Geralt thrust into him with abandon, and the Witcher came within a few more thrusts, gently leaning them both back over, so he was spread over the bard. They were both panting and sweating, trying to catch their breath as the cold air once again cooled their hot bodies.

When he had enough energy to move, Geralt rolled onto his side and pulled Jaskier into his chest, tucking the smaller man into his arms as he draped the blanket over them once more.

"Rest well, my bard,” he whispered, placing a feather-light kiss to Jaskier's temple before they both drifted into a calm, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> As before, please excuse spelling errors. I write on my phone and usually during the wee hours of the morning.


End file.
